


To Blot Out the Sky

by Ramabear (RyMagnatar)



Category: Katekyou Hitman Reborn!
Genre: Drinking, M/M, Smut, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Temperature Play (sort of), Unrequited Soulmates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-30
Updated: 2016-04-30
Packaged: 2018-06-04 12:15:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,471
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6657370
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RyMagnatar/pseuds/Ramabear
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Hibari orders a bottle of sake at the end of their dinner, Gokudera decides to push his luck and stick around to drink with him. </p>
<p>When Yamamoto drifts into the conversation with bitter words about his soulmate, the three of them reveal who they have and what they think of their fated partners. </p>
<p>When Gokudera decides to help the drunken Hibari home, he discovers temptation has dark eyes, cold hands, and whispered admissions.</p>
            </blockquote>





	To Blot Out the Sky

The exact moment that Hayato’s business meeting slash dinner appointment with Hibari goes from professional to personal happens when a waitress walks over with a bottle of sake. He’s surprised by the woman, at first, because he knows he didn’t order any alcohol (why bother when it would make his brain fuzzy and his company annoying to Hibari and Hibari wouldn’t drink with him), and is about to wave her off saying she must have the table when Hibari slides his glass of water to the side with the back of his hand and accepts both the bottle and the cup the woman provides. 

He pours for himself and picks up the cup, looking at Hayato over the lip, and says nothing. Before the waitress can go very far, Hayato turns and calls out to her, “Miss. Another cup for the sake, please.”

She makes a noise of agreement but it’s Hibari’s face he’s looking at to see if he’s overstayed his welcome and should just hurry up and fuck off lest he wants a tonfa to the face. (They’re almost twenty six and Hibari  _ still  _ threatens to bite people to death. The hilarious part, though Hayato will never say it to Hibari’s face, is when he threatens someone for the first time and you can see on their face their brain processing those words and their possible double meaning. Hayato is sure he’s not alone in wondering if Hibari’s biting fetish carries over into the bedroom, but he’s not stupid enough to bother asking.)

In this instance, Hibari narrows his gaze slightly but just takes another silent sip. 

Hayato fiddles with the remains of his dinner, picking at it instead of reaching for a cigarette. He needs to keep his hands busy with something so he won’t substitute chewing on his thumbnail for smoking.  _ Heh,  _ he thinks as the waitress returns with his cup,  _ wouldn’t it be something if  _ **_I_ ** _ was the one with the oral fixation and Hibari  _ **_wasn’t?_ ** But that, again, is something he’s not going to bother asking because he’s read enough psychology books to know what kind of fixations occurred in development. Safer to think Hibari was an oral guy instead of, well, an anal one.

_ Shit and I’m not even drunk yet,  _ Hayato thinks as Hibari pours him some sake. He doesn’t mind the taste so much, though he’s got a preference Italy’s limoncello or grappa. Usually when he’s abroad, Hayato drinks beer. Usually, when Hayato drinks, it’s with Takeshi. 

With their work business completed, there’s no reason to talk. Hibari seems to fully accept this fact and keeps utterly silent as he sips his sake, refills his cup, and continues to drink. He keeps the cup curled in his hand, only letting go when it’s empty. Normally, the silence would chew Hayato up from the inside out, grating on his nerves until he spat out  _ something  _ but this time he suffers through it. He bites the inside of his cheek when he wants to ask anything  _ (Why are you drinking? Why are you drinking with me? Why drink in this place? Do you ever fucking blink? Why are you looking at me like that?)  _ and just takes another swallow of alcohol. 

He knows there will come a point when he can’t hold his tongue anymore, but so long as he can, he will. Especially since this is such a rare opportunity. How many gatherings, dinners, events, meetings has he gone to with Hibari where there was alcohol and the other man drank nothing but tea or water? All of them, as far as Hayato is concerned. He’s never seen a champagne flute in Hibari’s hand, not even to just hold. His wineglass at dinners is never filled. Their business meetings over meals, surprisingly the easiest way to get ahold of Hibari for any stretch of time one on one, were completely devoid of alcohol entirely.

So there’s a reason for this, now, but Hayato can’t figure it out for the life of him. 

Hayato jumps when his phone buzzes in his pocket. “Shit,” he mutters, putting down his cup. He picks it up, rolling his eyes at the message there. It’s Takeshi. They made plans to go out after his meeting because, usually, Hibari winds him up so bad that he needs six to eight beers and several hours of bitching in Takeshi’s stupidly laughing company to get over it. 

Takeshi wants to know if they’re still on, since he’s not heard anything yet. A glance at the time tells Hayato that his dinner with Hibari was supposed to have ended nearly forty minutes ago. They’re probably halfway through this bottle of sake, though, and Hayato feels uncertain about leaving Hibari with the rest of it on his own. Knowing what he does about Hibari's perfectionist streak, he’ll finish the drink on his own. And then what? Would he just wander home? 

Hayato attempts to picture a drunk Hibari getting himself home and just… can’t. 

But Hibari’s a fucking adult. He’d older than either Takeshi or Hayato and they manage fine on their own. Well, except for that one time in Naples, but that had been for years ago so it didn't count. This wasn’t Naples anyway, or even Italy. This was Namimori. Hibari could probably get anyone in the fucking town to do what he wanted, even drunk. 

Still, Hayato doesn’t want to let him drink alone. The sake is good and the restaurant is a quiet one. The design of it keeps the customers isolated from each other so it makes a perfect place to have meetings or private dinners, especially when you have to meet with someone like Hibari. They’ve been coming to this place together, off and on, for about two years now. 

(Two years that Hayato’s been on business-meeting-duty for Hibari, because he was the only fucking one to attempt to buy the man dinner to keep him sitting still  _ and  _ nonaggressive for more than an hour. Hayato would find it hilarious if not for the fact that Hibari is still pants-shittingly terrifying when he wants to be and the only reason Hayato took on this task in the first place is because Tsuna asked and, well. Hayato will never be able to resist Tsuna.)

Hayato looks Hibari over. He’s no longer being stared at himself. Hibari’s dark gaze has shifted downwards, to his cup. He’s got no expression on his face, save for the way his eyes look almost shut. His lips are relaxed, his brows at a neutral position. He looks tired, with the way his lashes rest against his cheeks. So Hayato chances it.

“I usually drink with Takeshi after these meetings,” he says. Hibari’s eyes are instantly on his face, watching him again, “But instead of me leaving to join him, do you mind if he comes to join us?”

He doesn’t hold his breath after asking. That would be too fucking much, even for him. He just sips his drink, calm as you please, and waits. He knows the saying -two’s company, three’s a crowd- and if there’s anything that will turn even a moderately calm Hibari into a violent asshole it’s fucking  _ crowding.  _ But maybe it’s unlawful crowding, or just unwarranted crowding, or hell, just _ unexpected  _ crowding that Hibari doesn’t like because after a thoughtful minute or two, he nods his head.

“I will order more sake,” he says. 

“Have them bring a menu,” Hayato says with a bit of a smile. He hides that by ducking his head to look at his phone, “Takeshi’s decided to try new things this year, which really means he’s discovered that there’s more than one kind of shitty beer in the world.” 

Hibari snorts at his words. Hayato’s thumb freezes as he’s typing out a message to Takeshi, but he manages to recover in time. Did he just make Hibari laugh? Did that  _ count  _ as Hibari laughing? Fucking hell, he’s glad Takeshi’s showing up. No one would believe him that Hibari was drinking otherwise. 

When he finishes his dialogue with Takeshi (“ _ Wait are you serious.” “Yes, I am, come and drink with Hibari and I.” “Ohmgod... The fuck, Hayato.” “Just show the fuck up, idiot.” “Oh absolutely.”)  _ it’s in time to look up and see the waitress providing another bottle, another cup and a menu. Hibari nods to her in silent approval. 

“He’ll be here in a while,” Hayato says. This restaurant is a little farther out than they usually go, and a bit nicer too. Takeshi doubtlessly laughed at having to dress up to go drinking, but he likes change more than the rest of them. At least, little wild changes like these, ones that didn’t have any consequence to them. This is a night, Hayato knows, that will become a story to be told later.

It’s the night Hibari drank- the night that Hibari accepted  _ company  _ in his drinking at least- and Hayato’s going to be picking over the meanings of this dinner for weeks to come. It’s half-hobby, half-relaxation technique. If he doesn’t have a curiosity to pick at, his brain focuses on the things he can’t fix, can’t change, can’t deal with. It means, also, that Hibari’s going to be more on the mind than normal, but considering the fact that he’s unlikely to see Hibari for at least a month after this, there’s no problem. Hayato spends plenty of time thinking about all of Tsuna’s guardians. Half of Tsuna’s own worry came from dealing with them, after all. And all of Tsuna’s worry was Hayato’s problem.

By the time Takeshi shows up, they’ve finished the first bottle and Hayato’s unbuttoned the top of his shirt and loosened his tie. Hibari likes the professional attire at their meetings, which means Hayato dresses up for Hibari’s sake on more occasions than he does for Tsuna’s, but whatever. Doing what Hibari likes is a small sacrifice to getting him to sit down and actually discuss the plans both the Vongola famiglia and the Foundation have to work on. Annoying Hibari would just get his ass beat and his face bloody.

Takeshi greets them both with a smile. Hibari hasn’t said anything since allowing him to show up and Hayato’s been busy getting steadily drunker. Hibari has to steady the new bottle with both hands as he pours for Takeshi, but there’s no other indication that he’s been drinking. 

_ Unfair, really,  _ Hayato thinks as he eyes Hibari’s cheeks and ears.  _ Not even an alcohol induced flush? Ridiculous bastard.  _

“So what’s the occasion?” Takeshi asks the question Hayato hasn’t been able to bring himself to voice yet. “Happy or sad?” He glances from one of them to the other. Hayato shrugs a shoulder because he doesn’t need an occasion to drink. He’s in the mafia. His best friend is an assassin. His boss is the most important person in his life. He’s single and his soulmate mark is a brand across his back for a relationship he’ll never be good enough for. Honestly, he had more reasons  _ to  _ drink than not to.

Hayato only drinks as infrequently as he does because he made a promise when he was seventeen to only get drunk in safe company. An alcoholic would be useless to Tsuna, and Hayato needed to be useful to Tsuna. Always. 

“Tonight is the anniversary of the cloud ring battle,” Hibari says, not looking at either one of them. He’s staring at his cup. His hand moves, slowly, his wrist turning the cup to swirl the sake around and around. “The first night I got a proper look at that bastard.”

Takeshi shoots Hayato a look. Hayato shrugged his shoulders quickly and sipped his drink. The waitress reappears, asking Takeshi about his order, and leaves again before any of them say anything about that. 

_ ‘That bastard’  _ is not a nickname Hibari’s given anyone before, at least as far as Hayato knows. He tends to stick with animals, like monkey or dog or rat, or, if he must, defaults back to herbivore and carnivore. He goes on a little less about that shit now that he’s older, but Hayato takes that as he’s gotten to the point where he’d rather not say anything at all than say something and have no one understand him.

_ That  _ thought makes Hayato pause, his cup tipped to touch his lips. Swallowing sake and a touch of nervousness, he lowers it and asks, “There were a lot of bastards that night. Which do you mean?” He knows at least it’s not any of the Vongola guardians, not even Mukuro, because they met before that night. That meant someone on the Varia side of things. 

Which, now that he thinks about it, if Hibari holds a grudge against someone on the Varia, would explain why he attempts to kill them whenever one shows up unannounced. Hibari’s tolerance level for Xanxus and his people was the bare minimum, it seemed. 

Hibari’s lips press into a thin line, though, and he doesn’t answer. He only drains his cup and glares at Hayato.

“I bet it’s Squalo,” Takeshi says with that half smile of his. He keeps one on his lips even when he’s pissed off, now, like he can’t remember how to not smile anymore. Only when Hayato’s  _ really  _ drunk does he say anything about it, but it always worries him that Takeshi doesn’t stop smiling  _ ever _ and constant worry pisses him off. “He’s a right bastard.” 

Hayato snorts, “You’re only saying that because he’s annoyed you somehow.” He waves his hand dismissively at Takeshi. “Xanxus is the real bastard, as far as I know. It’s still not known who the hell his father was.” 

“If you're taking it literally, yeah,” Takeshi says. He’s already peeling the paper label off of his beer bottle. He’s got fidgety hands, like the rest of them, like Hibari who won’t let go of his cup, like Hayato and his bitten thumbs, it comes with the territory, Hayato figures. You don’t feel safe unless you’ve got your hands occupied with something, be it sword, tonfa or dynamite. “But I don’t think it was literal.” 

They glance at Hibari, but he’s busy pouring himself a refill. This time, when Hayato sees his face, there’s a pink to the tips of his ears. He found himself wondering how much of an alcohol tolerance Hibari had, considering he never saw him drinking. Probably a low one, at least, lower than his and Takeshi’s. Hayato’s only warm and pleasantly buzzed now.

“Why  _ are  _ you pissed at Squalo?” Hayato asks. This has been the last late-night worry problem that he’s been focused on. There are so few things that make Takeshi really upset and even fewer of those things that can’t be solved through quick forgiveness or violence, fatal or otherwise. “The fuck did he do to you?”

Takeshi laughs, “You don’t want to hear about this one, Hayato.”

Oh right. Like that was going to make him  _ less curious.  _ What a fucking idiot. “Yeah? Why the fuck not?” He thumps his fist on the table. Hibari glares at him again but he ignores it. 

Takeshi leans back, resting his elbow on the back of his chair and tipping his bottle to his lips. Just before he drinks, he says, “Because it’s about soulmate marks.”

Despite the drink keeping him warm, Hayato shivers against a sudden chill sweeping his body. He lifts his up to his mouth, ignoring the way his hand shakes, and drains it. He’s not even fully lowered it to the table when Hibari’s holding out the bottle. Hayato lets him fill the cup and then drains it again. When Hibari fills it a second time, he speaks, “Yours is unworthy as well?” 

Startled, Hayato laughs. His hand jerks and he sloshes the wine onto his fingers. Still laughing, he puts down the cup and wipes the sake off with his napkin. He knows that he’s drunk too much when he stops laughing and says, “The only unworthy one is me.”

“Yeah?” Takeshi says, still so mild, still smiling, still so damnably calm, “At least you know that your soulmate didn’t cut off his damn mark on purpose.” 

Hayato makes the connection so fast his head spins a little. “The fuck?” He gapes at Takeshi,  _ “Squalo’s  _ your soulmate?” 

This time, Takeshi laughs. It’s bright and warm and belies the white knuckle grip he has on his drink. “Fucker had the mark on his left hand. Right here.” He uses his bottle to tap the heel of his hand, where the muscle to the thumb is. “Thought it was a target or something, because of the way it looked, but it wasn’t. He drew a picture of it a few months ago, after we’d finished sparring and went out drinking. Fucker has no idea what the inside of a baseball looks like.”

“Shit,” Hayato says, rubbing his mouth with his hand. “I thought he cut off his hand to get into the head of the last sword emperor or something.”

“Yeah, sure,” Takeshi grins, “But it was his choice.”

Hayato opens his mouth to dispute the fact that Takeshi said he did it  _ on purpose,  _ but Hibari cuts him off. 

“He is a disgrace,” Hibari says. He’s leaning an elbow on the table and holding his cup in his other hand. He points with that hand, the gesture making his sake slosh, but not spill. There’s a bit of pink on his cheeks now and Hayato is oddly aware of the way Hibari’s collar presses against his throat when he leans his head forward and speaks. “It is one thing to decide not to take your soulmate when you know who they are, it is another to toss them aside without any chance of them proving themselves.” 

“Makes me wish the damn shark on my leg wasn’t so fucking high up,” Takeshi says, “Or maybe I could get away with cutting off my own mark to spite him.” He leans back in, closer to Hibari, and suddenly Hayato understands what Takeshi’s done. It’s a skill he doesn’t use on Hayato anymore, because he can find out what he wants to know just by asking, but against people who expect him to be so honest and straightforward, Takeshi’s underhanded conversation tactics are well used. Reveal just enough personal information, in just the right vein, and he could peel back the curtains hiding someone’s secret like the paper from a beer bottle. “What about you, Hibari? If yours is unworthy of you, will you remove the mark?”

“Unnecessary,” Hibari shakes his head slightly. He seems to realize that is a Bad Idea because his hand goes up to press against the side of it for a moment, to steady himself. “The mark is reasonably small. Besides, it is on my chest and I don’t want the scar tissue becoming a problem later in life.” His hand drops down from his head and flutters, for a moment, against his ribcage. It looks like he touches a spot along his left side before his hand drops down. 

“Why not get a tattoo to cover it?” Hayato asks. “I’ve seen that done.” Especially in Italy, where, if one fails to keep their soulmate, the retaliation is often to pretend they never had one at all. Dramatic, yes, but it fit in with the people. Hayato has pretended for years that he didn’t have a mark. Out of the guardians, only Takeshi knew that he had one. Well, that was the case. Now Hibari knows too, but Hayato doesn’t think he’ll tell anyone.

He doesn’t expect the guilty shift of Hibari’s gaze, away from them, away from the table, off to the wall. “I’ve tried,” he said. “But it’s damaged. Ink won’t take to the skin. The only way to change it would be a complete removal.”

“Damaged,” Hayato repeats. He’s never heard  _ that  _ one. “The fuck does that mean?” 

“It’s damaged,” Hibari retorts. His glare is sharp, but the edge of it is dulled by the very pink flush to his cheeks. 

_ Fuck,  _ Hayato thinks,  _ Fuck. Hibari can pull off cute.  _

“How?” Takeshi asks, gaining the glare himself. “I mean, what happened to it?”

“Nothing happened to  _ it,”  _ Hibari said, his lip pulling back in a sneer. “But my soulmate was a  _ fool  _ and got himself frozen for eight years.” His jaw flexes at the words and Hayato can see the way his eyes widen, like he’s just realized what he’s said, but Hibari continues on before either one of them can speak. “Even after  _ he _ got out of the ice,  _ I _ can still feel it.”

“Holy shit,” Hayato whispers.

Takeshi has his hand over his mouth. Hayato wonders if he’s smiling, even still, and using his hand to hide it. Probably, he thinks. 

Hibari looks away from both of them. He hasn’t said the name of his soulmate, doesn’t need to. There’s only one person they know who’s been frozen for that long and came back out of it alive. 

Hayato lifts his cup and hesitates. He lowers it again, setting it down with a clink. “It’s Tsuna.” 

Both Takeshi and Hibari look at him, the former smiling curiously, the latter with narrowed eyes. Hayato gestures to himself with one hand, “Mine. I mean. My soulmate. It’s Tsuna.”

His chest hurts, saying those words. He hasn’t ever told anyone, not since he figured it out, not since he realized that, despite the fact that everyone believed the marks lead you to your soulmate, he would never be Tsuna’s match. He’d rather be Tsuna’s best friend, his right hand man, his storm guardian, than to fail him as a soulmate and a lover. Losing Tsuna would kill him. 

But Takeshi’s angry at Squalo and his actions. But Hibari was  _ still suffering  _ because of Xanxus’s actions. Hayato couldn’t keep it a secret in the face of that. 

That didn’t mean he could face them, either. He stared down at his cup before lifting it and draining it. It didn’t stay empty long. Hibari filled it with the last of their second bottle. That gesture he was used to, but when Hibari’s hand touched his arm, Hayato glanced up, surprised. Hibari doesn’t say anything, which is probably for the best. What words could comfort someone like him? ‘It’s for the best?’ ‘He doesn’t deserve you anyway?’ ‘You should tell him, maybe he’ll want you?’

Hayato blames the sake for the fact that he puts his hand on top of Hibari’s and squeezes, giving comfort as  he received it. It’s startling how cold Hibari’s hand is, but considering the newly acquired information that Hibari’s body is still suffering from the zero point breakthrough ice- and fuck it if that isn’t horrifying itself- that makes sense. 

“I don’t know about you two,” Takeshi says, breaking the silence. Hayato winces slightly as Hibari’s fingers dig into his arm, displaying his annoyance clearly. “But I’m going to fucking tell the bastard I’m his soulmate.” He’s cracked open his third beer, this one a different brand than the first two, and offers a wicked smile, “That is, of course, after I find myself a lover. A permanent one. Because fuck that guy.” 

With a flick of his eyes to Hibari, Takeshi adds, “I’m pretty sure he’s fucking Xanxus, anyway. He’s that kind of devoted.” Then he tips his bottle back and drinks.

Hayato rolls his eyes. Squalo’s devotion to Xanxus is one that he understands inside and out. It’s the kind he feels for Tsuna. The kind that hurts him as much as it keeps him going. The kind that would have turned his hair grey if it wasn’t that way already and  _ fuck  _ if that wasn’t an amusing thought. Both Xanxus and Tsuna with their overly devoted right hands. Both right hands grey born grey, already wound so tightly they never get a chance to stress about their hair too. 

Hibari’s hand is still on his arm when Hayato lifts his other one to drink. He finishes his cup and sighs. That was the last of it and he’s sure he shouldn’t order another bottle. “God,” he mutters, “I’m tired.” 

Takeshi’s phone goes off with a little ping and he flips it open to look at it. No matter how many times Hayato tells him a smart phone is better in this day and age, Takeshi keeps to the old style. Hayato’s half sure that he does it so they have something to argue about when everything else is off limits. 

Glancing up from the screen, Takeshi says, “Mind covering my bill too, Hayato? Looks like my team needs some attention from their captain.” 

Hayato waves him off, “Go party with your hooligans, idiot. I always pay for these dinners anyway.” Well, the Vongola does, because they’re business meetings. Tonight will just be the first time that alcohol is added to that bill. 

“Cute,” Takeshi says, getting up. “Sorry for jumping in on your date and bailing so quick. Later.” He heads out, hands loose in his pockets but his eyes wary and watching. Hayato sees him check the exits automatically before he turns a corner and out of view. Their work follows them everywhere. 

“I think I’m done drinking. What about you?” Hayato asks Hibari. He gets a blank stare back and sighs. The waitress, with excellent timing, shows up with their bill and Hayato has her stay there while he fishes his card out of his wallet. She thanks him and walks off with it. 

Looking Hibari over, Hayato asks, “Should I call Kusakabe for you?” 

This earns him a glare and a dig from Hibari’s fingers. Fuck it. Why is he still holding onto him anyway? Hayato scowls back at him and reaches for his hand, to pry it off of course, when Hibari murmurs something. 

“What was that?” 

“‘S at the door,” Hibari says. “Tetsu is.” 

“Good,” Hayato says. “I can get you to the door.” 

“Mm.” Hibari nods. 

When the waitress returns, Hayato scribbles down an added tip, puts away his card and gets up. He takes Hibari by the elbow, trying and mostly succeeding at not thinking about how fucking weird this whole night has been, and helps him to his feet. He’s debating putting Hibari’s arm around his shoulders or just holding onto it when Hibari leans against him, his hair in his face, his cheek nearly on Hayato’s shoulder, and  _ fuck.  _

Hibari is  _ cold.  _ Hayato can feel the chill of his bare fingers through his own shirt as Hibari holds onto him to keep from falling. He ends up putting the arm around his shoulders after all because fuck embarrassment and fuck being seen, Hibari’s body temperature is way too low. 

This is when, of course, Hayato remembers that despite the warm feeling alcohol gave off, it actually acted as a depressant. Hibari is probably colder than usual with the booze in his system and it makes absolutely perfect sense why he would never drink. He’s cursing himself in his head for not knowing all this bullshit about Hibari -he’s supposed to be helping take care of the guardians, after all, so Tsuna doesn’t do it alone- but what can he do? It’s not like Hibari was very open about the shit that happens to him and-

“Warm,” Hibari’s voice is soft and so near Hayato’s ear that it sends shivers down his spine. “So warm.” 

There’s wonder in that voice. As if Hibari is marveling over the fact that Hayato isn’t a fucking ice cube. As if he’s forgotten that people are warm blooded. As if he’s rediscovered that someone  _ could  _ be warm.

Hayato wonders how likely it would be for a bomb to kill Xanxus if he sent one through the mail. It wasn’t his favorite method, but it worked. Maybe he can blow off Squalo’s other hand and get Takeshi to be happy again, too. 

Outside of the restaurant, Kusakabe appears at their side. “The car is this way,” he says, not making any motion to take Hibari off of Hayato’s side. With the way both of Hibari’s hands seem to be holding onto Hayato, of course, it’s clearly the best choice. Besides, they’re probably both headed to the Vongola base. Getting a lift from Kusakabe is really the best thing. 

Hayato helps Hibari into the back seat and then settles down next to him. Hibari closes his eyes, leaning against him again. Hayato weighs his options for a moment and then puts his arm around the other man’s shoulders. He gets a grumble but no other complaint. Hayato tries not to worry but when his hand touches Hibari’s skin, he’s so cold, so damn cold, and Hayato can’t help it. “You shouldn’t drink,” he says, “You’ve got no fucking tolerance, Hibari.” 

“Bite me,” Hibari complains.

Hayato snorts with laughter. It catches in his throat and he keeps laughing until he gets a sharp elbow to the gut and has to gasp for breath. “Fuck,” he says, “don’t fucking tempt me.”

Hibari starts shaking and Hayato looks at him in concern. “Hibari?” 

The man tips his head back, his face flushed, and his dark eyes glittering. He’s  _ smiling.  _ Hibari is  _ laughing _ at him.

_ God,  _ Hayato’s unable to breathe,  _ he’s beautiful.  _

“Coward,” Hibari taunts. “You’re afraid of me. Even when I’m drunk.”

“Yeah,” Hayato says. He can’t meet Hibari’s eyes because he’s looking at his throat instead. His shirt collar is still buttoned up tight. Of course it is. He’s too cold to unbutton it the way Hayato has. Which is a shame, such a shame, because Hibari’s neck is pale and surprisingly thin and- “I’m a drunken, foolhardy coward,” he says, leaning in. 

Hibari shivers under his lips. Hayato can feel it start and not stop as he mouths down from Hibari’s jaw to his shirt collar. He warms Hibari’s skin with his kisses and his breath, wondering if he could get access to more of it, to his collarbones, maybe, or his shoulders. 

There’s a hand on his chest, fingers twisted in his shirt, and it pushes him back. Hayato moves because this is  _ Hibari  _ and what the  _ fuck  _ is he thinking? He must have a death wish or something. Takeshi is going to fucking laugh at his goddamn funeral.  _ “He died as he lived, a drunken idiot reaching for something he couldn’t have.”  _ He hopes they use roses for him, not lillies. 

Hibari’s eyes are wide. His breath short. “Don’t,” he says. “Don’t.”

_ Why not?  _ Hayato wants to ask.  _ Let me warm you up,  _ his libido is urging him to say. “You sure?” is what he manages because, hell, if Hibari  _ was _ willing- Fuck. It’s been a long while since he’s slept with anyone. He’s been busy and there’s really no one to go to, no one that he can trust in his bed like that.

Hibari closes his eyes. “No,” he whispers.

“Then why not?” Hayato asks. “It doesn’t have to… It can be this once, just this once, if that’s the problem. I’m not-” He stops, licks his lips, but forces the words out anyway, “I’m not built for a relationship.”

Hibari opens his eyes and gives him such a disbelieving look that Hayato flushes in embarrassment. His jaw flexes as he clenches his teeth. Hayato sees that and regrets putting Hibari in this position. What the fuck is he thinking, anyway? Making a pass at Hibari of all people? Forget the death wish, he was courting endless suffering in the form of Hibari becoming intolerant of his presence. Hayato could lose his ability to work with Hibari over this and then where would that leave Tsuna? 

Even more overworked, that’s where. One more thing on his plate that Hayato couldn’t take over for him. One more problem. One more worry. One more-

There’s a breath at his ear. When did Hibari move  _ closer?  _ And why? Hayato shudders because Hibari’s lips are cool and so close to his skin he can feel them. His heart hammers in his chest, right under Hibari’s hand, and there are words whispered to him that he can’t believe he’s hearing. 

“I’ll break,” Hibari’s voice is so soft Hayato holds his breath for fear of not being able to hear him. “You’re so warm and I can’t remember that on my own. If you touch me, I’ll break.”

“Heat melts ice,” Hayato counters. What is he saying? What is he  _ doing?  _ His arm is circling around Hibari’s waist. He’s pulling him closer. Turning his head so he can whisper back, so he can half kiss Hibari’s jaw. “You won’t break. You’ll just melt.” And now he is kissing his skin, under his earlobe, down his neck again. Fuck it.  _ Fuck it.  _ He’s playing with fire--

Hayato swallows the bark of laughter at his own shitty thoughts. Not fire. Not Hibari. Dry ice. Ice so cold it burns your skin. Ice so cold your fingers turn black and fall off. It doesn’t even melt, it just turns to gas and escapes your grip like a cloud.

Fingers like ice grab him by the hair and pull his head back. Hayato’s got an apology on his lips but it sputters into a silent death at Hibari’s expression. 

He’s pink from cheek to cheek. His hair has been brushed out of his face. His mouth is slightly open from his panting and his eyes moved restlessly over Hayato’s face, searching for something. Finally, he says, “You’ve done this before?” His hand, still in Hayato’s hair, pulls threateningly. “You’ve done this? With a man?”

Hayato stares openly at him. He gets another tug on his hair but that is  _ nothing  _ compared to the realization that Hibari hasn’t fucked anyone. “Yes,” he admits. “Have you? With anyone?” he has to ask.

“A woman,” Hibari replies. “Once.”

Hayato wants to know that story immediately but if he asks, he’s certain he’ll be pitched out of the car and it’s moving at a pretty decent speed right now. Sure, he’d probably live, but Takeshi would just laugh at him in the hospital then. Instead of opening his mouth and cramming his foot in there, though, he says instead, “Do you want to?”

That grip brings him in this time, close enough he can feel Hibari’s breath on his lips, close enough that he can see his death in those eyes. “Do not break me.” A demand and a request wrapped up together in a steely voice. 

“Never,” Hayato replies. And he wouldn’t. He doesn’t even think he can. That would imply that Hibari was weak in any way and he has always been the strongest of them all. Hayato is reminded, again, how cold Hibari is. How long he’s been so cold. How he just lives with it, has never said a goddamn thing- Twenty years since Xanxus went into the ice, twelve since he got back out of it, and Hibari’s still freezing. 

No, Hayato is certain he can’t break Hibari. No one but Hibari could do that. 

The grip on his hair relaxes, minutely, and Hayato closes the distance between them to press a kiss to Hibari’s lips. He’s more used to the cold, now, and doesn’t want to go to fast. He keeps his mouth closed, offering kisses of warmth, until Hibari’s tension begins to drain.

The sudden stop of the car makes them both pull apart. The engine cuts out and they’ve only got a minute before Kusakabe opens the door for Hibari who slips out without a word. Hayato lingers, a little uncertainly, until Hibari glares at him and beckons with one hand.  _ Shit,  _ he thinks as he gets out of the car.  _ Fucking hell,  _ he thinks as he realizes they’re  _ not  _ at the base but they’re somewhere else, presumably one of Hibari’s residences.  _ Oh god,  _ he almost prays as Hibari grabs his arm and pulls. 

Hibari’s got better control of his legs now, not relying on Hayato to support him or keep him from stumbling, but he doesn’t let go of Hayato either way. Kusakabe follows them silently, but once they enter the traditional looking building, he slips away to somewhere else and leaves them alone. Hibari leads Hayato wordlessly through the hallways and into a bedroom.

It’s been prepared for him already. There’s a futon on the floor and a low lit lamp in the corner to give the room a yellowish cast. Hayato swallows, uncertainty now welling up in him, and stands awkwardly near the doorway. 

Hibari turns to face him, hands flexing restlessly at his sides. He glances from Hayato to the bed and then off to the wall. 

“Second thoughts?” Hayato asks, because, hell, he does  _ not  _ want to force Hibari into this in any way. “That’s all right, I mean, I’d be happy to just…” his voice trails off. 

Hibari’s got his glare back. His cheeks have almost completely returned to normal. This not blushing thing is kind of unfair as Hayato is certain he’s still red faced from drinking and the whole… thing in the car. 

“Just what.” Hibari asks in such a flat way that Hayato is certain he’s pushed too far and has pissed him off.

“Sleep next to you,” Hayato says, admitting the truth. “I mean, without sex. If that’s what you would prefer. I don’t have to fuck you to warm you up.”

Hibari shifts on his feet, facing him more directly, and his eyes have widened slightly. “That is enough for you?”

“Right now? Yeah.” Hayato shrugs a shoulder. “I mean. I’m still drunk and I don’t want to fuck up and hurt you because of that. But I’m here already so I might as well be useful, right? What you really want is to be warm and I can do that by being a fucking space heater.”

Hibari doesn’t say anything to that. He just turns away and walks to a different part of the room. Hayato stares in confusion until he realizes Hibari’s pulling out clothing and he’s getting ready to change. Jerking his gaze away, Hayato starts with his own clothes. 

This time of year he doesn’t wear much to bed because it’s usually too warm to, so he doesn’t mind just stripping down to his undershirt and boxers. He folds up his clothes, leaving them in a tidy pile on the floor, and turns back to the bed. With a wry smile, he realizes that there are two pillows available. Fuck. Hibari’s people are really on top of shit. 

It doesn’t surprise him that Hibari’s practically fully dressed when he walks over. It doesn’t even surprise him that he’s wearing traditional clothing. This is Hibari, after all, and he does what suits him the best.

Hayato slips under the covers, settling with a sigh, and tucks his arm under his pillow. He’s lying on his back so it’s easy to watch when Hibari pulls back the covers on his side and gets in. There’s a moment where they’re lying together but not touching, not even looking at each other, but then Hibari moves.

Hayato shivers at the cool touch of his skin. Hibari presses against his side and every inch of him feels like he was outside in the middle of winter only a minute ago. “Fuck,” Hayato whispers and turns to wrap both arms around him. “C’mere.” Hibari shudders, tucks his head under Hayato’s chin, and says nothing. 

He has to close his eyes, tightly, when Hibari’s hands find their way around to his back. Not because they’re cold and he can feel that, though that is true, but because of where they land. Just below his shoulder blades, Hibari’s fingers settle into place. Hayato makes himself take deep, even breaths to keep calm. His mark might not have been very detailed, but it was large. And it was currently under Hibari’s palms. 

After a few minutes of this, though, Hibari’s hands retreat to the warm space between them. They curl up between Hayato’s stomach and his chest, slipping under his shirt in the process. It’s much more comfortable for him, too. 

This is how he falls asleep, with Hibari in his arms, and a smile almost on his lips. 

* * *

In the middle of the night, Hayato wakes up to ice cold fingers winding their way up under his shirt and to his chest. “Shit,” he mutters, “The fuck?”  Who the hell was wandering around outside and then getting into bed with him? It’s the middle of the goddamn night and if-

Hayato often has some sleep amnesia when he wakes in the dead of night, but it always ends abruptly when he recalls who he is, where he is and what the hell he’s doing.

Tonight’s recall leaves him holding his breath in shock because Hibari is cuddling against his chest, seeking his warmth like a cat searching for sunlight, and Hayato is intimately aware of the fact that they are tangled around each other. Hibari’s hair is against his jaw. His cold fingers curled against his breastbone. Hayato’s own arms have found their way around Hibari, holding him close and one of his legs is tucked half over and behind Hibari’s. 

Hibari grumbles something and Hayato can feel breath on his throat from where the other man turns his head to nestle against him. Hayato manages to convince his lungs to start working again with a shaky little sigh. He can’t help but run a hand down Hibari’s spine and the action is rewarded by a little shudder. 

Those cold hands go flat against his chest. Hayato hesitates, expecting to be pushed away, but instead callous palms run down his skin and it’s Hayato’s turn to shudder. They’re still cool and the temperature difference makes his toes curl. His back arches instinctively as Hibari’s fingers sweep along his ribs and slide across the small of his back. The movement is torturous, both in because of the sensation of being touched in such a deliberately slow manner and because it forces Hayato to choose between allowing his back to arch and thus press him up against Hibari’s front, or to struggle against it and keep the meager distance between them in place. 

Hayato jerks in Hibari’s arms as those fingers rise, stealing warmth from his body, and touch where his soulmark is. “Stop,” he says suddenly, deliberately moving closer to escape the hands at his back. “Don’t touch me.”

Hibari does stop. He holds still for a minute before drawing his arms away completely. When he starts pushing on Hayato’s chest, to escape even that part of the embrace, Hayato understands. 

“I meant there,” he says, tightening his arms around Hibari. The small part of his brain that is all that remains of his exhausted rationality is screaming at him that he is holding Hibari against his will and he’s going to get an elbow to the gut if he’s lucky and a tonfa to the face if he isn’t. “I meant don’t touch me there. Please.”

Hibari stops attempting to wriggle out of his arms and goes still. “Why.”

“That’s my…” Hayato swallows dryly, “That’s where my mark is. Please don’t touch it.”

Another silent pause and then, “Fine.”

Hayato pulls Hibari close again. He presses his nose against soft hair and mutters, “Sorry. I’m not--  _ Hibari- What!”  _ He chokes into silence as Hibari twists and gets his arms around him, again. This time cold arms are around his waist and they’re flush against each other. Hayato can feel every breath Hibari takes. He can also feel the fact that this much bodily contact is turning him on… and now Hibari is also aware of that fact. 

But that’s nothing compared to the fact that Hibari’s mouth is on his. He’s being kissed. By  _ Hibari.  _

_ Well, that’s actually not a first,  _ Hayato’s libido is waking up better than his rationality.  _ In fact, didn’t I say I was going to keep him warm or something? He doesn’t feel all that warm to me. _

Hayato shoves his surprise into a little corner of his brain, to hang out with his anxiety and fear, while he kissed Hibari back. This time, he opens his mouth to it, swiping his tongue along Hibari’s lip until Hibari gets the fucking picture and opens his. Kissing Hibari isn’t great- it’s obvious he’s not done it very much but Hayato doesn’t care. They might never kiss again after tonight, but that doesn’t mean that Hayato shouldn’t help him get better at it for whoever Hibari pulls into bed next time.

Teaching by example, Hayato cups Hibari’s cheek in hand and focuses simply on kissing him between lungfuls of air until Hibari’s lips are warm and Hayato’s panting for breath. Giving his lungs a rest, Hayato kisses down Hibari’s throat. He tugs at the collar of his yukata, exposing more skin to warm up. 

Fingers tugging in his hair bring him back up so that they’re face to face in the darkness. “I want this,” Hibari whispers, “Do you?”

“Yeah,” And he does.  He really does. Which sounds insane to him, but if his rationality is going to pitch a fit over this it can go fuck off on it’s own. He leans in and kisses Hibari again, because he wants to. “I really do.” And not just because this is a once-in-a-lifetime moment. He wants it because Hibari’s mouth is soft against his. He wants it because Hibari’s fingers trace the lines of his hipbones and raise goosebumps in their wake. He wants it because Hibari wants it too and that openness, that willingness, is more intoxicating than any alcohol he’s had all year.

“Then show me,” Hibari leans in, kissing the side of Hayato’s mouth, “Teach me how it’s done.”

Hayato’s hands shake as he slides them under Hibari’s clothing. They’re kissing again, and Hayato has the pleasure of discovering Hibari is a fast learner. The things he showed him just minutes ago are being turned around on him, making his head spin as fast as his heart is beating. 

He pulls back, panting, and says, “We’ll need lube, and a condom if you got one. If you want it.” He’d rather not, but then he’s confident he’s not got any diseases and, well. If Hibari’s only slept with one person, once, it’s unlikely he’s got anything either. 

One of Hibari’s hands slides away and he reaches off the futon for something. He presses the bottle into Hayato’s hand and then goes back to kissing him, putting his now free hand to use by circling Hayato’s neck. 

The kisses are monumentally distracting, but Hayato’s good at multitasking. He has to be, had to be, to survive. Putting the lube aside for now, he turns part of his attention to Hibari's clothes. He unknots the front of  the yukata and peels it back. They’re still in darkness, they’re still under the goddamn covers, so Hayato works by feel alone. 

Here is Hibari’s collar bone, unbroken and hard. Here are his nipples, perk and sensitive. Hayato’s fingers find them first and when he pinches one as a test, Hibari bites his lip in retaliation. Here are Hibari’s ribs, broken countless times and with the tightness of muscle over them.

Here is a smooth patch of skin, icy slick to the touch, with a strange jagged edge to it. Hayato traces a finger around the edge and then suddenly realizes where his hand is. “Is this…” He asks, drawing back from another biting kiss. 

“It is.”

“It doesn’t even feel like skin, it feels like…”

“Ice.” Hibari says. He reaches up a hand and holds Hayato’s palm over the soulmate mark. The one he bears for  _ Xanxus.  _ Hayato wants to swallow his tongue at the thought that Xanxus might find out about this, might think that Hayato was trying to steal Hibari away. Impossible, of course, you couldn’t catch a cloud in order to steal it in the first place, but still. “Ice that will never thaw.”

Ice that he has carried near to his heart for twenty goddamn years. Hayato wriggles down suddenly, and pushes Hibari onto his back. His hands aren’t fucking enough for this. Completely under the covers, Hayato straddles Hibari on his knees and brings his mouth into play along this newly exposed chest. 

Fingers curl tightly in his hair as he licks across a nipple, biting the skin around it on his way down to his soul mark. When his mouth touches the skin of that icy patch, Hibari’s voice rises in a sharp cry. Hayato hesitates, only for a moment, to make sure that wasn’t one of pain -hell, he doesn’t know what it’s like to be half frozen all the goddamn time- but figures out quickly it wasn’t painful at all. 

Hibari tugs at his hair, whispers something that sounds suspiciously like  _ “Please”  _ and Hayato licks, long and slow, over someone else’s soulmate mark. Shivers break out over his own skin at Hibari’s second outcry. He reaches one hand up to fondle a nipple while the other holds Hibari’s hip to keep him down. The more he mouths at, the more he kisses, the more he bites the edges of that mark- icy and cool and now wet from his saliva- the more Hibari squirms underneath him. 

Hayato’s almost jealous of that kind of sensitivity. He can, at most, feel it when someone is pressing down on his mark, but it’s nothing like this. The back of his brain whirrs in thought, wondering if the ice changed the way the nerves relay information back, wondering if it responds to casual contact like this, wondering if it’s more the heat of Hayato’s mouth than anything that makes Hibari writhe. He bites down on the skin just under it, as a test, and gets a buck from Hibari’s hips that lets him know his actions have had the right effect. 

Drawing his hand down from Hibari’s nipple, Hayato slides it between Hibari’s legs instead. “Fuck,” he pants out against his skin. Even Hibari’s dick was cold. It was hard, but it was cold. Did that mean his  _ blood  _ was the wrong temperature too? 

How the hell was Hibari even  _ alive?  _

Hibari’s legs fall open to Hayato’s touch- a fact that Hayato will remember for the rest of his goddamn life. (He touched Hibari and Hibari welcomed it. Hibari spread his legs for him, for  _ him,  _ in place of his own goddamn soulmate. Hayato will marvel over this for years.) He has to shift his own knees, no longer straddling, now just between Hibari’s legs.

It’s a quick fumble in the blankets to find here he put the bottle of lube but he keeps Hibari distracted by nipping at his ribs. Hibari squirms under the ministrations of his mouth. Hibari arches off the bed when Hayato’s hand circles around his cock. He only means to tease a little bit, to see if he can get Hibari to make words out of his whimpering, but as his hand pulls and his teeth dig into the side of the mark, Hibari shudders and shouts. 

Hayato kneels there, silent, panting, because  _ fuck.  _ Hibari’s come isn’t any hotter than his own skin. In fact, it’s definitely colder. It drips from his fingers as he stares into darkness, the health implications of Hibari’s temperature problem stretching to encompass this fact too. 

He wants to ask, suddenly, despite the fact that they’re in the fucking middle of  _ sex,  _ if Hibari understands what it means to be so cold constantly. If he’s seen a doctor. If they’ve checked him out. If he’s getting any sort of treatment or anything but-

Can’t. He can’t. 

He’s here, for one night. He’s here to help Hibari remember what it’s like to be warm. 

And besides, what could Hayato tell him that Hibari himself hasn’t thought of in two decades?

Hayato blinks when he feels fingers slipping out of his hair. “Is that…” Hibari’s speaking, panting really, and it’s soft. Not wondering soft. Pain soft. “Is that it? I…” His body shifts, Hayato can hear it, feel it, if not see it. “...sorry?”

Swallowing hard, Hayato crawled back up and poked his head out from under the covers. The moon has finally come into view at the small window on the farthest wall from them, but that half circle of silver is good for fucking something. Hayato can see just the edge of Hibari’s face, his hair dark against his skin, his eyes closed. 

“That’s not it,” he says, kissing Hibari’s throat, under his jaw, up to his ear. “There’s more.”

More, in this case, meaning lube on his fingers and those fingers reaching down, down, down, until Hibari’s breath hitches in his throat and his fingers dig into Hayato’s shoulders. But his legs are still open, his legs are open and his hips arch up and he doesn’t say stop. Hayato kisses his earlobe as he works a finger in. “Relax,” he murmurs. It should be easier now that Hibari’s already come. “Just relax.”

Hayato recognizes the sudden shift in Hibari’s breathing. A long intake of breath that takes four seconds, that breath being held for two seconds, a long exhale for another four seconds. He bites his own bottom lip because he and Hibari use the same fucking breathing technique to calm themselves down. 

He can’t help but mimic it, his chest rising and falling in time with Hibari’s. His fingers keep working as they breathe together. Hayato can see Hibari’s mouth fall open, first to his breathing and then to the interruption of that breath in all sorts of sounds. Back in the throat whimpers, full throated groans, the occasional grunt behind clenched teeth, and then, once or twice, words. 

“Hot,” Hibari pants, his breath against Hayato’s temple, “More.” 

Working his fingers deeper, stretching and touching and warming Hibari, Hayato’s mouth settles at his throat. He kisses, first, but as Hibari’s legs start to close around him, as Hibari’s arms hold his shoulders, as Hibari grunts out half a word that could be his name, Hayato begins to bite. He worries skin that he remembers to be impressively pale on a neck that is deceptively slender. He bites at that unbroken collar bone and worries along the edge of Hibari’s shoulder with teeth that leave red rings and budding bruises behind.

His hands are shaking with need when he finally pulls down his own boxers and gets lube on his cock. Hayato groans as he presses himself down and in, stretching Hibari wider still and filling him up. 

Hibari’s gasp cuts like a knife through the air. Hayato glances to his face to see Hibari’s eyes squeezed tightly shut, his teeth bared to the open air, and his cheeks darkened with a flush. “Good?” He asks, his mouth down by Hibari’s marred throat.

“So hot,” Hibari says, “Fuck.”

Hayato laughs in surprise. Hibari swearing is a damn rare treat. He gets a fist in his hair for the expression, though, and his head lifted up. 

“Don’t laugh,” Hibari insists, “Just move.”

Then he clenches around Hayato, hard. 

“F-fuck,” Hayato whimpers, “Okay.” He brings his hands down, holding Hibari as he begins to thrust.

It takes a little bit of adjusting, moving his knees and his feet, lifting Hibari’s hips and nudging his legs, before he has enough support to really start. Hibari is determined to be wrapped around him during the whole thing, arms and legs and ass, and Hayato had no idea the other man was so damn clingy. 

Nor did he have any idea that he was so fucking  _ noisy.  _

The longer Hayato fucks him, the louder he gets. Whimpers to groans, grunts to words, shouts to cries, until Hayato shifts, thrusts, finds his prostate and Hibari  _ screams his name.  _

Not his last name, either.

“Hayato, Hayato,” Hibari says, over and over, interrupting himself only to say yes or more. He doesn’t swear again, but Hayato does it for him. 

“-fuck, fuck, yes,  _ fuck,  _ god, god _ damn  _ Kyouya, fuck-” Hayato’s only quiet when his mouth is full of skin or crushed up against Hibari’s. 

Sweat drips from his back. He’s hot under the covers, so hot. Whenever he touches Hibari, though, his hands find warm skin. Hayato grins against Hibari’s bruised throat because he’s  _ done it.  _ He’s made Hibari warm. 

He drags one hand up from Hibari’s thighs -strong and firm and god, he loves how smooth they are- so he can feel for his mark. 

Still glossy, still glassy, but not so cold he thinks. Hibari screams again as he presses his fingers down around the mark. 

_ Xanxus will never have this,  _ he thinks. It’s a crazy thought. Hibari doesn’t belong to him.  _ Never. This is mine. Xanxus doesn’t fucking deserve to have Kyouya like this.  _ He’s going mad. This is it, the moment he loses his goddamn mind. He’s up to his balls inside of perhaps the single most terrifying person he knows and he’s actively thinking that Hibari- no, Kyouya- will belong to  _ him.  _

Kyouya pulls his head up to kiss him. When they’re both breathless, he whispers, “Hayato,” against his lips. 

In the moonlight, Hayato can just see that Kyouya’s eyes are open. They’re dark, so dark they don’t seem to reflect any light. Fathomless and haunting. 

Hayato presses in for another kiss to keep himself from saying anything stupid. He bites Kyouya’s lip until it bleeds. He digs his fingers into that icy mark on his chest. He thrusts in, hard, and grinds his cock against Kyouya’s prostate.

He makes him come, again, clenching and moaning and shaking and  _ sweating.  _ Kyouya’s skin is hot to the touch and it is  _ Hayato’s doing.  _

Hayato comes while still inside of him, thrusting until he’s done, and panting until his mouth is dry. He’s got Kyouya’s blood on his lips and his fingers twisting in his hair and he feels incredible. 

Incredible and tired. 

As he expects, Kyouya is resistant to him moving away at all. He clings, sapping heat still, basking in the warmth of their bodies under the covers. Hayato shifts enough that he can pull out and lay more comfortably on top of him. He sighs happily, trailing fingertips through Kyouya’s hair and smiling. 

Kyouya pulls the blankets up higher around them, until they’re in up to their chins, and huddles deeper into them himself. “I’m warm,” he murmurs. In the near darkness, Hayato thinks he can see him smiling too. “I’m really warm.”

“Happy to help,” Hayato says, full of smug pride. “I’ll do it anytime.”

There’s a pause as they both assimilate what the hell he just said and Hayato stiffens. Shit-  _ Shit-  _ He didn’t think that through at  _ all.  _

But Kyouya only tightens his arms around Hayato and murmurs, “Okay. I accept.”

Hayato opens his mouth and then shuts it. That did not just- Kyouya didn’t just agree to- And why the fuck was he calling him Kyouya in his head? Did he want to get kicked out of bed when he slipped up? 

_ But lovers can call each other by their first name. Besides, he did call me Hayato first.  _

And if they were making plans, even tentative acceptance of possible plans, to do this again… Wouldn’t that make them lovers?

Hayato pushed himself up on an elbow. Kyouya turned his head to look up at him. He wasn’t frowning, not quite smiling, and his brows were lifted in a question. Hayato cupped his cheek in one hand. His thumb stroked over Kyouya’s skin under his eye and then down to the corner of his mouth. He bit his lip, willing himself to keep quiet but-

“Hayato?” Kyouya asked, “What is it?”

“I think I could do it,” Hayato says slowly. The words feel like they’re being drawn out from the middle of his chest. “If you want me to. If you want to try. I think I could do it, with you. For you.”

“Do what,” Kyouya’s tone was flat, not quite annoyed, but wary perhaps. “What do you mean?”

“Learn to love you instead,” Hayato whispers, terrified of his own words. His soulmate mark is a weight on his back, pressing down on him. How  _ dare  _ he try for anyone but the one he’s destined for? How dare he actively try to keep Kyouya from his own soulmate.

Kyouya’s widening eyes make Hayato wince. He said too damn much. Kyouya was talking about sleeping together for pleasure, for warmth, not for fucking  _ love.  _ What was he thinking?

Kyouya’s fingers are cool against his mouth. He traces the edge of it, looking up at Hayato in thoughtful silence. Finally, he says, “Learn it. And then teach it to me.”

Wryly, because he can’t help it, because the pressure is too great, the tension too high, Hayato asks, “So I can teach you how to love yourself?”

There is a flicker of annoyance that presents itself in the way Kyouya’s fingers grip his chin hard and holds his head in place. They’re a scant few inches away as Kyouya says in that steely voice of his, “So you can teach me how to love  _ you.”  _

Hayato can’t breathe. Air is trapped in his lungs and will not expel itself. He stares at Kyouya with an open mouth and unblinking eyes. Swallowing, with difficulty, he closes his mouth and nods, slightly. 

“Good,” Kyouya murmurs. He lifts his head and kisses Hayato lightly. “Now please get off. I need to shower.” 

“Uh huh,” Hayato says, dazed. He rolls off and watches as Kyouya pulls back the covers and draws his yukata closed around himself. In the faint moonlight, the love bites on his neck are dark against his skin, like the shadowy craters on the moon’s surface, and Hayato finds himself both amazed at his own audacity and horrified by it. Those are going to be  _ impossible  _ to hide. What was he thinking?

Walking away on silent feet, Kyouya leaves Hayato alone in the bed. His bed? Their bed? Are they- Lovers? Boyfriends? Something more than that? Something in between those two? Hayato puts his arm over his eyes and groans at his own confusion. 

Fuck it. He can’t be bothered in trying to figure this out. 

He throws back the covers and rolls off of the futon. Getting to his feet, with only a little stumbling, Hayato walks out of the bedroom, following Kyouya’s footsteps. 

If there was a futon big enough for two people on hand, Hayato figured there were pretty good odds on the shower being big enough for two as well. 

If that wasn’t the case? Well. 

Hayato didn’t mind sharing his personal space with Kyouya so much. He was a clingy bastard, but he was  _ Hayato’s  _ clingy bastard. And that made all the difference.


End file.
